Stalking Tigers
by FlashySyren
Summary: Companion piece to House Cats Shouldn't Hunt Tigers. Is Methos being stalked? Chapter 2 ended up a bit on the dark side so I upgraded the rating to M for safety's sake.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is a companion piece to House Cats Shouldn't Hunt Tigers, something of a sequel; reading it first is not completely necessary but might help with clarity.

Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander nor its characters, I'm just borrowing them. No copyright infringement intended.

Le Blues Bar was packed, but that was nothing new, Friday nights were always busy because Joe introduced new musical talent on Fridays. As a consequence, the bar was hot and noisy; the usual smell of spilled beer mingled with that of sweat and a dozen different perfumes applied with much too heavy a hand. A myriad of characters populated the tables of the bar ranging from twenty-something hipsters to young couples to older blues fans.

Methos sat at his usual table, beer in hand, and while he waited for MacLeod's arrival and Joe to sit and watch the show with them, he entertained himself by people watching. As a self-proclaimed student of human nature, he enjoyed hypothesizing about a person's life and personality based upon the interactions that he was able to see in a setting such as this.

His ancient eyes scanned the interior of the bar, watching the patrons communicate with each other and taking in the verbal and nonverbal exchanges. The young woman with way too much makeup on, flirting shamelessly with a much older man – married man, Methos thought; the group of college boys that had already imbibed far too much alcohol and were joking obscenely with one another; a couple in their late forties, sitting at a small table in the corner chatting easily despite the ruckus. All much too easy for him, he wanted a challenge.

The door opened and another group came in, three couples by the look of it, and the only remaining table was for four. He watched them look around the bar, one of the men pointed at a nearby table occupied by a single woman, and the group split off. The three women and one of the men took over the empty table while the other two men went to ask for unoccupied chairs. That was interesting, Methos thought, that none of the women included themselves in the task. Strange but not extraordinary for sure, but it was enough to draw his attention to the lone woman's table.

The woman was fairly nondescript, not much stood out about her, she was neither beautiful nor unattractive, late twenties or early thirties; from her seated position it was impossible to determine height, but she was petite, unassuming. The taller of the two men smiled at her and started talking, Methos couldn't hear the exchange but it was obvious by his body language that he was requesting the use of her extra chairs. She never spoke but waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and each of them snagged a chair.

Methos watched the men take the chairs back to their table, settling in quickly and joining the conversation. Their dynamic was interesting, high energy, a lot of hand gesturing and laughing. His initial observation of three couples was proven false, but he had no doubt that they would be paired up by the end of the night judging by the amount of flirting.

The group failed to retain his attention, however, and Methos found himself watching the lone woman. She sat back in her chair, posture relaxed, her hands wrapped around a dark colored mixed drink. Rum and Coke, maybe? She seemed lost in thought, and he wondered if she were waiting for someone. She absently pushed her auburn hair out of her face, and he decided there was something familiar about her.

He was certain that he hadn't met her; he's much too good at remembering faces, but… As if she sensed his attention on her, she abruptly looked straight at him, the expression in her eyes cold enough to make him shiver. She dropped her eyes back to her drink, and Methos was suddenly reminded of his drunken adventure in an alley a few weeks earlier: he had stumbled upon a woman being harassed by two men; he had been just about to step in when the woman took care of the problem herself, with extreme prejudice.

It was impossible to know for sure if it was the same woman. The alley had been pretty dark, lit only by a couple security lights that had done little more than cast shadows and give the occupants a jaundiced glow, but the double homicide had been unsolved by the local police force. Her hair color was, at least, similar to the other woman's -

"Just wait until you see the act I've got lined up for tonight, this guy is great." Joe greeted Methos as he sat down next to him. "Mac's not here yet?"

Methos shook his head. "He should be here soon."

The words had no sooner left his mouth when Duncan MacLeod arrived, his entrance was not noted by the observation of his coming through the door, but, rather, the fact that two-thirds of the female population turned to watch him walk through the bar. Methos rolled his eyes, but couldn't help noticing that his mystery woman was one of the very few that ignored the highlander, instead she was staring right at him.

"Adam, Joe." Duncan greeted when he reached their table, and Methos smiled a greeting. "What have you got set up for tonight?" He asked as he flagged down the waitress.

"Real up-and-comer. You will be impressed." Joe replied enthusiastically.

Methos' eyes slid back to the woman's table, but it was now empty and her drink sat nearly untouched; something about the situation set off every one of his alarm bells. If she was the woman from the alley she was very dangerous, and her appearance in one of his favorite places was concerning. Was she staking him out? Could she have even identified him? He was in the shadows; it would be hard to describe anyone from that night. He wasn't even sure that she was the same woman and he had been watching her pretty closely that night.

"Adam?"

Methos pulled his attention back to his friends. "Hm?"

Duncan looked amused. "Are you with us?

He was saved by the start-up of the act, rich musical chords filling the suddenly silent bar.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: This chapter ended up being much darker than I had expected it to so I increased the rating to M for safety's sake. I hope you all enjoy the story, I would love to hear your thoughts, please leave me a review.

Disclaimer: I own neither Highlander nor its characters, I'm just borrowing them. No copyright infringement intended.

It had been a good night, great music, plenty of beer, and good friends, but Methos couldn't completely shake the unease he felt. He wouldn't try to either, he had learned to trust his instincts, and right now those instincts were telling him to watch his back.

He was being followed, he was sure of it, but as of yet, he hadn't been able to verify it. _Damn mortals._ When an immortal was following him it was pretty obvious with the built in warning system, but there was no such mechanism to warn him of a nearby mortal with malicious intent. Not that he was afraid of the woman, not at all, but Methos was a survivor and the unknown was a risk. He took a round-about way home, ducking into alleyways and backtracking, finally arriving at home, he closed the door behind him, making sure to lock it.

Methos dropped his keys on the side table next to the door and removed his sword from his coat before hanging it up. He strode farther into his apartment, his Ivanhoe dangling from his right hand; he flipped the light switch bathing the living area in incandescent light, revealing a coffee table, covered in texts, situated between a blue-gray sofa and a brown armchair. The sofa was unoccupied, but the chair, most definitely, was not.

Curled up in the overstuffed armchair, left foot flat against the seat of the chair, right leg curled around the left, the toe of her boot pressed against the chair arm, chin resting on her right palm, the barrel of a silenced 9mm resting against her right foot, was the woman from the bar.

He froze mid-step, cocking his head at her. "It appears that I have a visitor." He gripped his sword a little tighter.

She leveled her eyes on him, not pleased that he showed no fear and very little surprise at her presence, and she let the silence stretch.

"I'm not in the habit of entertaining guests that I have not been introduced to." Methos took two steps closer to her. "I'm Adam."

An amused smile quirked the left side of her mouth. "Yes, Adam, I know. If you feel the need to have a name for me, I suppose you can call me Jane."

"Cute. Jane, Jane Doe, no doubt."

She shrugged and untwisted her legs, getting gracefully to her feet.

Methos eyed her; the icy glare from the bar had been replaced by a mischievous glint that sparkled behind her dark eyes. She was playing a game, and he had yet to learn the rules. "Were you following me?"

"Not tonight." She closed the distance between them, her eyes on his sword. "That's a beautiful sword, but kind of impractical, don't you think?"

He ignored the sword comment, it may be impractical against a pistol, but it was necessary to his survival. "How long have you been following me?"

"A few weeks, I followed you home from the alley." She shrugged again. "I wasn't sure if you could identify me."

"So you decided that I could, and that, you should frighten me to silence."

She crossed behind him, shoving the barrel of the pistol against his spine, and removing his sword from his hand. "Nope."

The pressure from the pistol was gone and when he turned around she was putting his sword back into his hanging coat. He clenched his jaw; he had just gotten settled back in here and he didn't really want to die. New identities were… inconvenient. He seriously sized her up, she was short, only reaching his shoulder, and small framed, even if she were very fit she couldn't weigh much, but she moved like a cat. He decided that he could take her easily, anything to end this tedious exchange; he had faced much worse odds, and besides, worst case scenario she shoots him.

"Why are you here… Jane; what game are you playing?"

She smiled and despite the width of the expression, no mirth reached her eyes, but, again, she declined to answer.

Methos waited until she had gotten closer to him, only a few small steps, before he rushed her, his right hand wrapping around her left wrist controlling the pistol. His momentum carrying them against the wall with a hollow thump, he reached over and pulled the pistol out of her hand using his much larger size to restrain her against the wall while he did.

He looked down into her face, brown eyes, as impassive as ever, met his. "This wasn't the kind of game I had in mind." She said in a low voice pressing her body against his.

He sucked in a gasp as darker impulses invaded his thoughts, he had buried Death deep in his subconscious, unfortunately Death was a persistent personality. He took a quick step back, but the desire to make her fear him, to take her, and use her, and kill her remained. He looked down at his hands, his right gripping the pistol with white knuckles, his left clenched into a fist; he forced himself to calm down, shoving the pistol into the waistband of his jeans. He looked up just in time to see her grin wickedly and backhand him, the sharp slap reverberated through his nervous system, and he literally saw red.

Any hope of keeping control of his temper fled as he caught her next strike, he twisted her arm behind her back with one hand, and twisted his other hand into her hair dragging her to his bedroom. He threw her against the foot of the bed, pulling her head back by her hair.

"You chose the wrong game piece, Jane."

With infuriating calm she replied, "No, I chose perfectly."

His hand still tangled in her hair he dragged her to his nightstand, digging a dagger out of the drawer; he pressed the blade against her neck. Her eyes never wavered, perfectly unafraid. Death screamed at him to be released and he shifted the blade slightly pressing the sharp point into the sensitive skin of her jaw, drawing blood.

"Yes, perfectly." She said and laughed, not a laugh of joy or even satisfaction, but of bitterness; a dark, angry, ironic chuckle.

Death was beyond indignant at her refusal to recognize the position she was in, and in a final, desperate move to make her understand, he took the dagger away from her neck and drove it into her abdomen. A fatal thrust, but an injury that would ensure a slow and painful death; her face contorted in pain, but inexplicably, she smiled.

Speaking through her teeth, clenched against the fire burning in her belly, she said, "Thank you."

The words broke through Death's grip on Methos, sudden realization of what he had done came crashing down on him. He recoiled in horror, leaping away from her. When he stepped back, however, he felt as though he had missed the floor, and found himself falling…

Methos jerked awake with a cry, his legs were bound and he panicked, kicking his feet until he realized that it was his blanket wrapped around him. He lay panting on the floor of his bedroom, his skin faintly illuminated in green from the numbers on his alarm clock, it was 4 am.

He rubbed his face vigorously, willing his heart rate to slow, cursing under his breath, a dream, it had all been a nightmare. He loosed every curse word he had ever learned in every language he had ever spoken, dredged from the darkest recesses of his memory.

As stupid as it is for house cats to hunt tigers, it is even more unwise for a caged tiger to watch another tiger hunt; caged tigers often crave the hunt the most.


End file.
